


Don't Stop Believing

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, POV shift, Pining, Romance, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Sirius looks up at Remus and he’s close enough that Remus could count every one of his eyelashes, if he wanted. He drinks in the glint in Sirius’s eyes, the lazy curve of his smile and the light shadows under his eyes.





	Don't Stop Believing

**Author's Note:**

> A fic for the first R/S 24 Hour Challenge, where we had to incorporate the theme "the morning after" and the words pillow, banana, firewhisky, snogging, fire, lipstick, window, hippogriff, tattoo, jealous

The morning after the first time, it’s his head upon the pillow that gets to you the most. There’s something insolent about the black spread of his hair against the crisp white cotton. Something peaceful about him as he dreams. Eventually the first tendrils of morning sun graze his skin, and he turns his head and looks at you. His lips turn into a smile that makes your heart quicken. 

It’s different, this time. It feels like something. 

Something good.

*

Sirius wakes with a yawn, his mouth as captivating as ever. Remus pushes up onto his elbow and looks down, at the spot where Sirius’s smile dimples.

“Morning.”

“Is it?” Sirius winks, and he reaches for Remus. His fingers press, slide and pull. “Is the sun up?”

“Think so.” Remus looks at the window, obscured by heavy curtains. It might as well be night for all the light that filters into the room. “Soon enough.”

“How soon?” Sirius presses closer, his body hot and hard.

“There’s time enough,” Remus says. He pushes Sirius back, because he can. Sirius rolls, compliant. Sirius looks up at Remus and he’s close enough that Remus could count every one of his eyelashes, if he wanted. He drinks in the glint in Sirius’s eyes, the lazy curve of his smile and the light shadows under his eyes.

“Time enough for what?”

Remus presses his lips to Sirius’s torso and whispers against warm skin.

“Time enough for whatever you want.”

*

The thing about a magical fire is, one minute you’re snogging in front of it, and the next James Potter’s got his head in the flames and he’s laughing, making kissy sounds and catcalling. You pull back, glaring at the flickering head as the fire pops and spits.

The thing about James Potter is, when he’s around Sirius hardly kisses you at all.

*

Remus pulls back from Sirius, his lips still tasting like banana milkshake, the faint, acrid tang of cigarette smoke and the first chill of winter.

Sirius presses a hand against Remus’s chest, where his heart thuds restlessly. “I can’t be arsed to go back to the rooms yet. Stay here for a bit.”

“Okay.” Remus shrugs, happy to breathe in the cool evening air for a little longer. He glances across at Sirius and tries to school his voice, so it sounds light and airy. “You disappeared off quickly enough last night. I thought we might have another shag. Another morning after.” He tries to make it sound casual and flippant. More _I wanted to get my end away again_ than _I wanted to fall asleep with you beside me_.

Sirius closes his eyes, his jaw twitching as if he’s thinking about something funny. “Sorry, I had to help Prongs with something. We can fuck tonight, though.” Sirius stretches as if he's displaying himself, which he probably is. “However many times you can manage.”

Remus rolls his eyes, even though Sirius isn't able to get the benefit. He doesn’t ask what James needed from Sirius at eleven o'clock in the evening, because to push too hard might imply he cares. Remus doesn’t want to push Sirius into making any choices. Not when they’re still feeling their way around this strange new development, and Remus can't be certain it's a choice he would win.

As if he can read Remus’s thoughts, Sirius blinks his eyes open. They track the grey clouds which separate into thin wisps against the dark sky. Remus contemplates Padfoot’s profile. Lovely, in the moon. Remus doesn’t usually like the moon, but sometimes it has its benefits. “What the fuck are we doing?”

Remus breathes out, cold breath like smoke in the air. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know.” Sirius pauses, tilting his head to look at Remus. “It’s good though, isn’t it?”

“Good enough,” Remus says.

There’s something unspoken that hangs in the air and when they finally kiss again it tastes as sweet as sugar.

*

A shot of firewhisky and rum is a dangerous thing. It gets you just drunk enough to say all the wrong things, and leaves you with a pounding headache in the morning and a vulnerable heart that could easily be shattered by the wrong response to three, careless words.

Luckily, it’s not the wrong kind of response, exactly.

It’s just not the right one.

*

“I feel like a hippogriff's dancing on my head.” Sirius groans and throws his arm across his eyes. “Can’t you turn the lights down?”

“They’re candles.” Remus is amused. Hungover Sirius is impossible and endearing all at once. “You can’t turn candles down.”

“You can with magic.” Sirius winces, but eventually he opens his eyes to look at Remus. “Why the fuck are you so far away?”

Remus shrugs. “Because you’re hungover and you stink of booze?”

Sirius snorts and he beams at Remus. It makes everything around them warm. He extends his hand. “Don’t be a twat. Come over here, will you?”

Remus does, and they kiss like neither of them has a hangover at all. Sirius is pushing his hands under Remus’s jumper when Remus gasps it out, his head spinning.

“Fuck, I love this…you…this.”

Sirius pauses, his breathing heavy. After a moment he presses his lips against the skipping pulse point on Remus’s neck. He flicks his tongue against the skin before pulling back and yanking off his jumper. His smile is as wide and confident as ever, his cheekbones accentuated by the candles and the flickering shadows which dance around the room.

“You’ll always be my favourite, Moony.”

Remus loses himself in the sensation of Sirius’s touch and forces himself not to think about the rebuff at all.

*

You know the marks on his body better than you know your own scars, scratches and bites. You’ve learned to read his blemishes like tattoos, know how to kiss the swathes of warm skin between them, understand how to tongue along the spots which make his breath ragged and his slender frame squirm beneath you. You know how he tastes in the morning. Salty, sweet and a little stale. Know how he tastes at night, like brandy and treacle tart.

Over time you’ve come to learn that everything leaves a mark, and so you bite him. Just hard enough to bruise.

*

“Christ.” Sirius gasps and groans, his torso slick with perspiration. “Do that again.”

“This?” Remus knows what he’s doing. They’re at the stage where Sirius’s body is as familiar as it's ever been. Remus slides his hand, inch by glorious inch. Up and down, thumb rubbing over the damp spot at the head of Sirius's cock. He listens to every hitched breath and puff of enjoyment and slides his hand over Sirius again. “This is it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius closes his eyes and arches, cat-like. It’s not like Sirius to be so wild and abandoned without giving anything back. This is a rare moment of complete submission to Remus's touch. Sirius presses up, down and up again and his breathing comes in staggered staccato exhales. “Yeah, that’s it. God, do it like that. Like _that_.”

Remus wants to remind Sirius who it is that’s making him come apart, but he doesn’t, and Sirius’s eyes stay shut in blissful oblivion, his mouth forming the shape of another person's name.

*

The blood stains like lipstick on the collar of his shirt. You wrap a bandage around his hand as he stares at the wall, jaw fixed and tissue pushed against his nose.

“I fucking hate him. I’ll punch him again if he keeps being a knob.”

You know that Sirius doesn’t hate James, but what takes you by surprise is the unexpected wave of jealousy that wants him to.

*

“It’s a nice day for a wedding.” Sirius puffs smoke into the air, making circles with his mouth and watching as the tendrils curl into the air.

“Nicer than expected,” Remus agrees. He glances at Sirius and wonder when they stopped speaking in kisses and started talking about the weather, like strangers. “Warm.” Remus winces. _Warm._ He knows he can do better. His mouth has kissed every part of Sirius and yet all he can think of saying is _let’s hope there’s not rain_.

“I missed you.” Sirius looks at Remus, his eyes dark. “What happened to us, Moony?”

“No idea.” Remus shrugs. Inside, he’s screaming. They know. They both _fucking know_. James Potter happened. One crisp and unexpectedly snowy midnight after too many pints at the Leaky Cauldron. One moment of madness that brought them together in a rush of slick, desperate heat, then left every single one of them out in the cold. “Doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“No.” Sirius licks his lips. He’s looking at James. “It doesn’t. Not anymore.” He glances at Remus. “Do you miss me too?”

Remus swallows. _Yes, yes, yes_. Jealousy burns through him hotter than any passion and warmer than a thousand different summers. He wants Sirius so much he aches with it. Wants to drag him off somewhere and feel those searching kisses one more time. He wants to push Sirius down and take everything he can get. 

He takes a breath and it shakes as he exhales. “Friends?” Remus holds out his hand, quirks his eyebrow and plasters on a smile.

Sirius’s throat works, his jaw tightening. Eventually he throws his cigarette to the floor and grinds it out with the heel of his boot. He clasps Remus’s hand and a not-quite-there smile flickers across his face. It’s not the blinding sort of smile Remus is used to from Sirius, but even the tentative curve of his lips makes a traitorous bud of hope bloom in Remus’s chest.

“Friends,” Sirius says. His fingers squeeze, his touch lingers. Their palms are clammy and Sirius strokes the spot where Remus’s thumb and forefinger meet at the base. Somehow they’re close enough that Remus can smell the cigarette smoke on Sirius’s lips and he can almost taste all the kisses of the past. Was it really so long ago?

“Always.” Remus’s voice is rough, and Sirius brings his hand to Remus’s hair, brushing it lightly back from his face. His fingers linger just a beat too long.

“I think I made a big mistake,” Sirius says. His voice is low, his smile rueful but hopeful.

“Yeah,” Remus says. “You did.” He takes another breath. One, two, three. “Love you, Padfoot.” Always have, always will. He knows it sounds like goodbye. 

“You'll always be my favourite, Moony.” Sirius's voice breaks.

Remus nudges Sirius with his shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Liar.”

“Not this time,” Sirius says. He nudges Remus back.

Their fingers slide together, not quite clasping, barely even touching. They stand together, shoulder to shoulder and watch the sun set on the day as the clouds turn to fire, and flame.

_~Fin~_


End file.
